Her analogy makes me chuckle.
Charlie sounds exasperated. “It doesn’t help that everyone is freakishly fit and cover-model beautiful.”
“See, you fit right in,” I tell her, knowing that if I had to compare Celine and Charlie, I know who would win for looks, personality, and more. Hands down, Charlie is exactly my type. Bookish. Those sexy librarian glasses. The backside with curves I want to get lost in. At first, my walls were up; spies never trust someone who asks so many questions. Her honesty, her positivity, her kindness. She’s someone who goes out of her way to make someone’s day, rules be damned. Helping that runner in Kalispell was the right thing to do.
I don’t elaborate and she doesn’t press any further. I’m grateful, because if I had to tell her she is just as cover-model beautiful as other, less welcoming people in the office, I’m not sure I’d be able to face her again. Maybe this all-encompassing darkness is loosening something in me, in both of us, but it hasn’t made me forget my pride. My own fear of rejection.
“I googled you too,” she admits.
“And what did you find?” I ask, knowing full well what the answer will be.
“Nothing. Not one social media profile. No newspaper clippings. You really are a spy, huh?”
Her words amuse me. “That’s the easiest term to describe it.”
Charlie gasps and I can picture her overreaction. “Is Declan avidson even your real name?!”
At this, I laugh. “Yes, it is my real name. My parents were super strict when I was in high school about no social media. When I got to Annapolis, it seemed safer to not have an account to avoid infractions. Then I got used to not having a real account. I have a few burner ones I can use to look people up when needed.”
“So Annapolis to FIRE?” Charlie asks.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a story there. How do you go from a solid career in the military to endurance sports to being a spy?”
I hesitate. “It’s a long story.”
I hear Charlie moving in the darkness, shifting to find a comfortable position on an unforgiving floor. “We have time.”
I tell her about my rebellious streak as a kid. How my dad was in the army, went to West Point. Served all twenty years before retiring with a full pension. “The most defiant thing I could think to do would be to join the navy. Old rivalries die hard.” This earns me a small chuckle from Charlie.
Oliver is also retired navy. While FIRE isn’t affiliated with any one branch of the military (or any specific country), the navy trend is strong among the executive team. “Four years at Annapolis in exchange for eight years active duty. Retired two years ago. I was lucky,” I continue, “to have great mentors and leaders. Served with a tight unit and had a commanding officer I admired. Was happy to follow him. My CO took a civilian job at a sports company.
“He called me up and said, ‘You gotta exit at the end of your current tour. Come work for me. It’s more than it seems.’ Sounded like every kid’s dream, right?” I think back to when I got the call, knowing I had an option to get out of the navy or re-up my commitment. I hadn’t even begun to think about life as a civilian. Then a perfect opportunity fell at my feet. “I took the job. I trusted him; he had never steered me wrong. I was deployed with him. I knew his family. And he was right. This is a great job. Both sides. And then . . .” I trail off.
Charlie figures out what I didn’t say. “And then you were both on that dock in Osaka, and only you came out of the water?”
“Yeah,” I say, not wanting to talk about it anymore.
The guilt, the loss, the feeling that I couldandshould have known what was about to happen and prevented his death. We were on a mission in Japan. It went sideways. I thought we would always save the day, beat the odds, make it out alive together.
Nope.
I stop my train of thought. Ruminating on it is a wasted effort.Focus, Davidson.
I hear movement in front of me and then beside me. A pressure on my hand. It’s Charlie. She fumbled in the darkness to move next to me, to comfort me. Her touch is light and reassuring.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
We sit like that, her holding my hand for a moment. The warmth of her body is so close, the fragrance of her perfume so subtle and welcome.
Charlie is the one to break the silence. “So is it too much of a coincidence thatweare the two people trapped in here? Like, whoever the mole is, probably locked us in here?”
“Could be,” I respond, hesitant to jump to any conclusions after my massive flub on her first day.
“Or it could have been an honest mistake,” she offers.
“The lights were on; anyone who came in would have surmised someone else was in here and called out. Whoever it was knew we were in here and didn’t want us to know.”
